Prayers in Purgatory
by PhoenixDawnBou
Summary: A series of one shots of Dean's prayers to Castiel. Random order. Desitel.
1. 247

Night falls, and Castiel rests. He leans against a tree and closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes the strangely still air of Purgatory, listens to the sound of the stream. A soothing, reassuring sound. He can imagine, for just a moment, that he is back on earth, that he's home. In a moment, he'll hear the echo of Sam and Dean's voices, or the purr of the Impala starting. Dean will call for him, a hoarse shout and a profanity: "Cas, move your ass! Let's go!" and when he goes to him, Dean will offer him a beer with an impish grin, knowing Castiel will refuse. Sam will huff out a laugh, catch Castiel's eye, and shrug as if to say "You know what he's like." Castiel will allow himself the small hint of a smile, because he _does_ know what Dean's like. He knows the very shape and texture of Dean's soul; he knows every detail of the hunter's being.

He sighs. He can't let himself daydream like this. Lucidity is a necessity; he must be in the here and now. He wishes with a bitterness that surprises him that he could be insane again. Insanity was easy. He didn't have to take responsibility then. He didn't have to remember, if he chose not to, the terrible price he'd exacted from innocents. The mountain of dead he'd left in his wake when he'd aspired to be God. The destruction he'd caused. How he'd hurt the Winchesters. The look in Dean's eyes when he realized Castiel had betrayed him. And worst of all, Dean fearing him, his eyes going cold when Castiel had threatened Sam. He'd seen himself become a monster in Dean's eyes and that hurt more than he'd expected. He'd seen the warmth go out of Dean's eyes again and again when he was trapped in his own mind; he'd seen Dean coming to kill him over and over again, dean calling him "an evil son of a bitch."

An indrawn breath. The light disappears from the sky, not gradually like back on earth, but suddenly. The forest goes quiet; there will be a few moments of silence before the night creatures awaken. And Castiel waits. He isn't aware that he's not breathing; it's not a necessity, but he learned it made the humans around him more comfortable if he was breathing, and it's habit now. He is completely still, waiting. The way he used to wait for revelation, only back then he had been sure revelation would come, and now he's anxious, uncertain. _Hoping._

It always happens in these few moments between daylight and dark, when Purgatory is still. For the 246 nights Castiel has been here, this is when it happens. It keeps him going. It gives him something to fight for; a soldier like Castiel always needs a purpose, a cause to fight for.

_Cas, I…_

At the familiar nickname, Castiel relaxes against the tree he's leaning on, lets out a ragged breath of relief, tilts his head to one side. Dean. Dean is praying, as he's prayed for 246 nights before this.

_Where you at? I'm trying to find you, man. Please don't be dead. Please, you stupid son of a bitch, don't get yourself killed._

A small smile curves Castiel's lips, brittle and sad. Dean's bravado is comforting, in that it is familiar. At the same time, he can feel the emotion in the prayer; Dean is close to despair. Castiel clenches his hands into fists, trying to keep himself from being swayed by these few pleading words from Dean.

_I'm going to find you, Cas._

It is a promise. Castiel feels the steel bands of his bond with Dean squeeze around his heart (metaphorically, of course, because if his vessel had steel bands around his heart that would be of some concern). He'd regained his grace and angelic powers, but he'd retained his human emotions. He's filled with warmth because Dean says he'll find him, and consumed with fear that Dean actually will. What Dean says, he means.

_Where ever you are, just hang on. Hang on, man. I'm coming._

The concern Dean has for Cas tugs at him, causes his heart pain. He knows this might be cruel, what he's doing. He knows that Dean is probably suffering, fighting for his life every day (and probably every night too), with no allies and no help, almost no hope.

_But, Cas… if you're okay, if you're not hurt or captured or… whatever _(and Cas notes that Dean cannot even let himself think that Cas might be dead, that is not even a possibility for the hunter)_, come back. Please, Cas ,I…_

Castiel turns his head, frowning. He cannot go to Dean, it's too dangerous. His hands, still fisted, beat futilely against the tree. He can feel the rough bark scraping his skin and doesn't care. He cannot go to Dean, he cannot put Dean at risk.

_Goddamn it, Cas, come back to me._

It's a human plea to a divine being, but Castiel wants to obey like it's an order. He keeps beating his fists against the tree trunk, tearing the skin, to keep himself from appearing next to Dean. He cannot allow himself to indulge his weakness in such a way; he must be strong. But it hurts him, it tears at everything he is to be this strong. He once created Dean, pulling his soul from hell and reconstructing his body, raising him from his grave to save the world. That is not the surprising part; Castiel is, after all, an angel. No, the surprising part is that somehow, in ways Castiel can't even understand, Dean remade _him_. Emotion, doubt, free will- all of these things were shaped by Dean, and they are now as intrinsic to Castiel's being as his grace. Which makes Dean essential to Castiel, and being apart from his hunter is excruciating. But necessary. His hands are bleeding now, the sting of broken skin turning into a dull ache.

_Good night, Cas._

Castiel opens his eyes and stares into the darkness. He repairs the damage to his hands when he's sure he will stay where he is. The physical pain subsides, but his heart aches and his whole being cries out to be with Dean. He stills himself, subduing the pain with a quick swallow and a blink of the eyes (not knowing he learned the gesture from Dean, not knowing he is even doing it). He cannot help the tears in his eyes, though. He cannot keep himself from crying. With another painful swallow, he raises one hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, and he sighs. He can hear stirring in the forest; it will be long night.

But before he moves again, before he becomes all motion and fight and survival, he lets the short prayer find its way to the center of his being, nestling somewhere between his heart and his grace with all the other prayers Dean has sent. Words of pleading and hope and yes- in this moment, Castiel will admit it, with his heart raw and tears still welling in him- love. These 246- 247- prayers are all the hope he has, the last thing he has to cling to. It has to be enough.

It is.


	2. 38

On the 38th night, Castiel goes to Dean.

He knows it's dangerous; he is being pursued by Leviathan, and he's got a price on his head. Dean is merely a snack in comparison. Castiel is the prize. The further away from Dean he is, the better Dean's chances for survival. And he swore to keep Dean safe when they found themselves in Purgatory and Castiel was whole again.

But the prayers. The prayers hurt him, go straight to his heart. Dean prays to him every night, and Cas knows what that costs Dean. The faith Dean has in him is humbling, and in spite of his better judgement- as always- he goes to Dean.

Dean is sleeping against a tree trunk, not resting so much as in an exhausted stupor. Castiel doesn't say anything. He's reluctant to wake the hunter, and watching him sleep is peaceful. Like old times. Like before he fell, and after, when they were brothers in arms. When they fought the apocalypse together. Before he aspired to be what he wasn't and broke them.

He thinks about their past together. The first moment Castiel laid eyes on him in hell, torturing some poor soul. He'd gone to Dean and put a hand on his soul, and he'd felt so much. Dean's savage, primal joy in inflicting pain, the curiosity to see how far he could go, the disgust with himself, the self-hatred for succumbing, his grief for losing his humanity. And underneath all of it, pulsating like a heartbeat, his love for Sam. That was the reason Castiel was able to get Dean out of the pit reasonable whole. He's had to leave pieces behind and there were after effects Dean would never recover from, but his love for Sam is what saved him in the pit. Alistair had gotten him to come down off the rack, but it would have taken centuries to fully break Dean; Castiel knew beyond a doubt that love was stronger than hatred and pain.

After all, love had caused a devout angel to fall from heaven.

Castiel hears a movement in the forest and moves slightly, scanning the dark. He should not have come. Unfortunately, Dean hears the noise too and his eyes fly open. He looks up in surprise at Cas, his green eyes weary but lighting up with hope when he sees the angel. His hand is already moving for his weapon, his body tensing for an attack, and he is on his feet before he fully realizes that Cas is in front of him.

"Cas." He says, his voice a growl in his throat. "Man, I thought…"

"I heard your prayers, Dean." Cas says. Dean looks at Cas, waits for him to say more. When Cas doesn't, he reaches a cautious hand out to him to make sure he's real.

"I knew you'd come." Dean licks his lips. "I knew you wouldn't leave me here alone." Castiel can't think of anything to say. After a moment, Dean pulls him into a hug, arms going around Castiel's shoulder and waist. Castiel returns the embrace before he can think about it. Their bodies melt towards each other, finding solace in the familiar. Dean makes a hoarse sound in his throat and tightens his grip on Cas. "Cas." He breathes against Castiel's ear, and there is a change in the way he is holding himself against Cas. Somehow he becomes more fluid, warmer. Cas can feel Dean's breath on his ear, becomes agonizingly aware of how close Dean's lips are to his skin. He's sure if he inclines his head just a fraction, he will feel Dean's lips brush against his skin.

"Say something, Cas." Dean says, still breathing in his ear. Castiel closes his eyes and lets his head incline just a fraction, and yes- he feels Dean's lip move against his skin. Castiel thinks he's smiling. Neither of them cares anymore about_ forbidden_ or _can't; _Purgatory is too vast and lonely to care about human inhibitions.

"I cannot stay, Dean." He says finally.

"Yes you can. You can't leave me alone, Cas." Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath sends chills down Castiel's spine, and he feels Cas shudder. "Please, Cas." And this time the brush of Dean's lips against him is deliberate, determined. It's like an electric charge and Castiel wants to press closer to Dean. He manages to resist, but just barely.

"Stay with me." And that breaks Castiel's crumbling resolve. He presses against Dean and turns his head, catching Dean in a rough kiss. Dean is ready, lips parting easily and head rolling back. Dean's arm slides down from around Castiel's shoulder, pulling him closer. Castiel's hands find themselves at Dean's waist, and then brushing the top of his hips. Dean makes a sound in his throat again and Cas feels the vibration against his own lips, a low, tantalizing sensation. He groans, full of longing. Dean breaks the kiss to catch his breath, looking in Cas's eyes. Dean starts to lean forward, but in that moment Castiel disappears. He tells himself he hears something coming for him, that he cannot put Dean in danger.

He's scared.

Dean calls his name, swears. Castiel, invisible to Dean, reaches out with a trembling hand to touch his forehead. Dean collapses at the base of the tree, in a deep sleep. He'll either forget that Castiel was here, or think he was dreaming; it's the kindest thing Castiel can do. Castiel watches him for a moment longer, and then flies away. It is too dangerous, he cannot stay.

In the distance, he hears the howl of the creatures that hunt him.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: this one is Dean's POV, thinking about his relationship with Cas. Enjoy :)

Dean's knees buckle and he sinks to the ground, exhausted and weary and just _tired_, so fucking tired. Hell wasn't like this, this bone-numbing weariness gripping him since the first night Cas disappeared, 100 days ago. Hell wasn't exhausting like Purgatory is. There was more pain in Hell, more to fear, but he wasn't as lonely in Hell. He'd think of Sam and the pain would subside a little; he'd remember his stupid bitch of a brother or think of him _living _and he'd resist Alistair for one more day. He tries that in Purgatory, but it's not as useful. Yes, the thought of Sam living and searching for him and not giving up keeps him going. It helps him find that one little push he needs sometimes, to get to his feet again and keep fighting, or to keep shedding blood. But Sam is far away, in a different realm or dimension or whatever. Inaccessible. Safe.

But Cas is here somewhere, in this vast desolation of forest. Cas is hurt or hiding or captured (but not dead, please not that, please anything but Cas dead _again_ for the sake of Dean Winchester, not _again_), Cas left him in their very first moments in Purgatory. And the worst part was that Cas shouldn't be here. He should be back home, watching the bees or freeing monkeys from laboratories or whatever the fuck the angel did now. After everything he'd been through, everything he'd sacrificed, Cas deserved better than to be stuck here because of Dean. _For_ Dean. Purgatory gave him a clarity of mind, an almost surreal sharpness that stripped away the bullshit and denial and willful blindness that left only the stark truth. And the truth is that from the moment Cas pulled him out of the pit (a shiver at the memory of the words "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition" runs down his spine, that voice, that fucking _voice_), they'd been tied together in ways Dean didn't understand. Cas himself had said it, told him straight up "I gave everything for you" (Cas's eyes so blue and deep and angry, disappointed in the man he'd put his faith in, frustrated with a longing Dean didn't want to see), and he hadn't wanted to understand. But now he did. He understood so much it hurt.

In th few moments he has to think, when he's not fighting for his life or resting, he thinks about him and Cas. How it always has been between them. How he's always felt those blue eyes looking at him, into him, through him, like a physical blow. How he's always felt open to Cas, exposed. After the incident with Alistair (and oh god he enjoyed it, he hadn't wanted to but he'd enjoyed torturing Alistair, it was like some kind of poetic justice and his blood had hummed in him and he'd felt so alive when everything else felt dead), Cas's eyes full of compassion and sadness, his face contemplative and shadowed with pain at Dean's tears, he'd felt something. Not the fierce joy of inflicting pain, not the remembered affection for Sam, and not guilt. Something like hope had kindled in him as he lay physically broken and soul-weary. And it was Cas who made him feel that, Cas's quiet acceptance of him, his budding faith in The Righteous Man. And whatever had been growing between them was cemented then, and they were hopeless. Neither really knew what they were getting into, and by the time he realized it was too late, too fucking late. Cas had already given his life, facing off against an archangel so Dean could try to stop Sam. He'd failed and made Cas's sacrifice pointless, except that even making the sacrifice meant something. It meant everything. Dean sees now every damn thing Cas has done for him and what it all means and he wants to tell him.

And he refuses to believe it's too late. Cas died and come back three times. The last time he died was horrible, the Leviathan tearing him apart until there was nothing left but the trench coat and Dean's raw heart. And even after that, after dying before Dean's eyes and being gone for months (and Dean trying to drown the loss in whiskey , Dean trying to act as though his heart hadn't been cut out of him, taking each loss after that harder and harder because Cas, fucking _Cas_ had been the first to die and everything else was just more pain), he'd come back. He was a stranger with a strange name, but he'd been Cas under all of that. And when he realized who he was and what he'd done, he'd looked at Dean with such pain and sorrow and regret that even though Dean was pissed as hell at him, he wanted to comfort him and tell him it'd be okay. Before he could move, before he could speak, Cas had sacrificed himself again, taking on Sam's insanity to free the younger Winchester from the prison of his mind. He'd only remembered that he was an angel for a few minutes; he'd only remembered Dean for few minutes before he was willing tosacrifice himself again. Dean was scared that Cas was gone for good that time, lost in his own mind, suffering in ways Dean tried not to remember (the rack in hell was alive and he remembered what it'd done to him, he didn't want to think what it might do to Cas). But even after that, Cashad come back; broken, damaged, but even so, still Cas. Still his angel.

So no, he doesn't believe that Cas is dead. Not now. Not after all this. Not here. Injured maybe, captured, possibly in hiding, but not _dead_. Dean has never believed in God, never believed in a higher power directing his life. Hell, he'd fought Fate itself and won. He'd met those so called divine beings and hadn't found one yet that could defeat him. He has faith in nothing except himself, his love for Sam, and his life mission.

And Cas. Cas, who dies again and again and comes back, always comes back to Dean.

Dean bows his head. _Cas, buddy._ _Wherever you are, I'm coming. I'l l find you. Don't give up. We'll get out ofthis, and we'll go home. _He pauses. _ If you can come back to me, come back. _He wants to say it, but he just can't bring himself to say "I need you", so he moves on, hoping Cas will understand. _We've been through a lot and we'll get through this. We're not done yet. Cas, I… fuck, just… you're all I have left and I'm coming. Amen. A-fucking-men._


	4. Chapter 4

_Cas. fuck._ Dean rubs his eyes with one hand. It's not just about tired anymore. He's not sure he has anything to fight for anymore. It's been over 150 days since Cas left (156, but who's counting) and there's been no clues. Gone without a trace, gone like after Sammy jumped into the cage with Lucifer and Michael (fucking kid saved the world by doing the stupidest, bravest, most heartbreaking thing Dean's ever seen- and coming from Dean Winchester, that means something) and there was nothing in the world left for him but a half-sincere promise to Sam and the grief that chipped away at his soul and his heart and the very fiber of his being. Cas had left him then too, to face the worst goddamn year of his life alone. He had Lisa and Ben, of course, and god knows he'd tried to love them they way they deserved, tried to be the man he'd always wanted to be, tried to find some sort of happiness or contentment because the apocalypse was called off (but that meant shit all because the world at large went on but Dean's world, everything he held dear, was over and there was no getting it back). But he couldn't because he knew first hand what hell was like and his baby brother was trapped down there with no way out and there was nothing Dean could do. And the only person who might have understood, the only person who could have helped to fill the void or even knew what it was like had left. Disappeared. Gone back to his little angel buddies, forgetting the human who'd come to think of him as family. In that year the world was ending and Cas fell, he'd become as essential to Dean as Sam or Bobby. Not exactly like Sam or Bobby, but close. Close enough.

And now, again, his back is against the wall and he's fighting things he never even suspected existed. He's cutting a bloody, corpse strewn path across Purgatory and he's not even sure why anymore. Why he doesn't just fucking give up and let some thing take him. He prays every goddamn night to Cas but there's no repsonse, and Sammy's so far away Dean doesn't know if he'll ever see him again.

_Cas. Please_. And he can't think of anything else, just _Cas please_. Please come back. Please give me some sign. Please don't be dead. Please answer me, you dick, please let me know you're alive and I still have something to fight for. Please, Castiel, please please please.

There's no response.

Dean is not one to cry easily; after the life he's lived, after being tortured in Hell and losing everything, tears don't come easily. Especially in this place where weakness is a death sentence and vulnerability is an invitation, tears are useless. But he can't help himself. A tear escapes him and he tells himself that's fine, one tear is fine but that's all Cas gets from him; it's all he deserves after leaving him here. He won't bury his face in his hands and let the tears wash over him, out of him, and he won't shake with silent sobs and he won't, he fucking _won't_ whisper the angel's name to himself, won't let it be a talisman against loneliness and fear and despair.

When he gets back under some sort of control, he takes a shaky breath. He won't pray to Cas anymore, won't beg him to come back. He's breaking, sooner than he did in Hell and more completely. He wants to give himself over to the primal functions of Purgatory, wants to let go of his humanity so he doesn't have to feel or think or hurt anymore. It would be relief. It would be a release.

_Please, Cas_. He sends the prayer against his better judgement and waits. There's been no response but sometimes... sometimes there's a feeling. A warmth in the soul that might as well have Cas stamped all over it, it is so familiar and recognizable. When he feels that, Cas might as well be there with him, putting his hands on Dean, comforting him. The first time he felt that, Cas's hands were on his soul, rescuing him from one of the torture chambers in the pit. It was so cold in hell, so fucking soul numbingly cold that Dean though he'd never be warm again. He'd begun to think he didn't need warmth because it made him weak, and with Alistair's razor in his hand he was so powerful the cold didn't matter. But then Cas came, his light blinding (though not entirely white) and put his angelic hands on Dean's dark soul. Warmth had flowed into him; Cas's Grace touched his soul and he could have wept from relief. Alistair's razor fell from his suddenly relaxed fingers and he'd leaned into the warmth, gave himself up to it, and Cas had carried him out of the pit, never taking his hands away even though battles raged around them.

After a moment, he feels that warmth, just a small spark of it, somewhere inside of him. Maybe it's all Cas can manage; maybe it's all Cas will allow himself to spare, but it's enough. Dean knows what he's fighting for, knows there's a reason to pick himself up and keep going. Cas is out there somewhere and he's going to find him. If he's hurt, he will kill whatever caused his angel pain. If he's hunted, he will find what is chasing his angel and make it know fear. Already the things in Purgatory are trying to stay away from him, the puny human who is causing so much destruction, and if some thing out there hurt Cas, Dean will take vengeance.

_Thank you_. He says to Cas. The warmth starts to fade him, but it is enough to keep him going. He lets himself lie down and close his eyes, lets himself rest. Tomorrow the hunt continues but for now he can have this small sense of peace.


End file.
